Wednesday, April 13, 2011


Such poetry, that such a gaze
Could say so much, that she would
Feel less, deprived, unworthy,
While her friend, in that same moment
In her gaze, said that only she was worthy
Of worship.

I don't think that I like a world
Where a judgement of worth is such
A shallow thing.  Only beauty, shallowly told
Is the thing which decides the worth
Of a soul when the soul truly worthy,
Thinks itself an object of shame.
To be hidden
To be less.
It's not the world in which I choose to live.

And think--the woman kept from life,
From growth,
From finding her worth,
Only because her features meet a
Shallow definition of what--
Shall we call it beauty
Is she just an object of desire?
Perhaps her payment is as much
As the other.
The pain is woman's pain
The penalty is for all.

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